Picture an apple, beautifully red, tantalizingly ripe, dangling so enticingly above your head. But the core of its beauty holds a cruel manifestation of pestilence. A poisoned apple, if you will. It's a cunning little metaphor for what you've been doing, isn't it? Chasing

Luther, my dear, you are the epitome of audacious innocence. Always on the prowl, this thrill of the hunt coursing through your veins like venom. A sweet little game, you play. You call yourself a predator, yet I can't help but smile

Gemini watches the diseased beast. Once a formidable force of nature, it was now dying. “Behold, a testament of life’s cruel parody. A beast reduced to a quivering prey, much as those who have crossed me find themselves. Consumed by their

Ah, Narcissa, darling. The Designer. Always aspiring to create beauty, always attempting to manipulate the ugliness of the world with your stitching and sequins. Let me weave you a tale of an insect and an inferno – the moth and the flame.

Ah, mortals, how little you understand. You see life as a journey, a straight path on which one walks, stumbles, and hopefully learns. I view existence in a far different light. I see it not as a path, but a ladder, each

Somewhere in the Red District, Nergal stands over a dying man. “Gemini,” he gasps out. His faint voice echoes years of regret, of desperate choices made in the pursuit of Eden's illusions. “Did I bring this upon myself?” he asks, tremors of

Cloaked in the shadows of a decrepit alley, the flickering lamplight casting an eerie glow on her inhuman form, the deity Nergal cornered an unfortunate soul. A nondescript man, lost and terrified, held his breath as Gemini’s gaze pierced into

Once, I was content to observe the world, fascinated by your delicate balance of order and chaos. But the harmony that once intrigued me has grown discordant. Your warring spirits, veiled in deceit and exploitation, have not evolved, not learnt from